


Rose Garden Filled With Thorns

by Anthusiasm (HalfwayDecentFanfiction)



Category: Bad Blood - Taylor Swift (Music Video)
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 09:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8973592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfwayDecentFanfiction/pseuds/Anthusiasm
Summary: Prequel story, set when the girls are still in training.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [worstcommander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/worstcommander/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! I had a ridiculous amount of fun writing this fic, so thanks for writing an awesome letter.
> 
> Also, while the fic as-is functions as a self-contained story, I'm sort of thinking about writing a second chapter at some point in the next month. This is my first time Yuletide-ing so I'm not sure if that's normal or if I'm supposed to ask if you're okay with that before I do it?

She called herself the Headmistress because that was the sort of environment she wanted to encourage. Boarding school. Gossip. Pillow fights. This was partly because the project wasn’t going to work if the girls felt like they were prisoners or soldiers or medical experiments. Some of her colleagues had objected, but she’d convinced them that keeping a bunch of superpower teenagers with access to the latest in weapons technology trapped in an unhealthy and traumatic environment was a recipe for disaster.

She even let the girls pick code names, a conceit she’d come up with to help them separate themselves from their former identities and lives (and which most of the adults were going along with to add an air of legitimacy). This was currently the subject of some serious deliberation among the girls currently gathered in the facility’s atrium, waiting to be called in for the procedure.

“Domino was what I named my imaginary motorcycle when I was a kid,” said one lithe, short-haired girl. “Shit, are those fresh grapes?” She grabbed one and popped it into her mouth, leaning against the wall, then broke into a grin and repeated, “Shit!”

The other girls dove for the grapes, too. Well, most of them dove for the grapes. One girl with short, dark hair continued to sit in the corner with her arms crossed, not looking up from her knees. The Headmistress remembered the girl’s file. Lisa Orozco, the daughter of one of the tycoons that had risen to the top of the hierarchy in the LA enclave. That explained the lack of excitement over the grapes. She probably got plenty of those at home.

Another girl, a tall blonde, hung back until everyone else had eaten, watching them intently.

“I might just go by Homeslice,” said one girl. “It’s my nickname back home.” The blonde who had hung back before smiled and put her arm around Homeslice’s shoulder. They were sisters, the Headmistress remembered. Outlanders who'd been picked up when they'd done a sweep of people who lived near the enclave and asked them to volunteer for testing. Like most outlanders, the family lived outside the enclave voluntarily, preferring to take their chances with the mutated animals and humans instead of accepting the enclaves’ protection. The Headmistress couldn’t blame them, personally. Enclave governments were a bit of a craphshoot. The LA enclave, which was run by a small group of individuals with an authoritarian bent who had seized control of resource distribution towards the beginning of the enclave’s formation (and who most people only semi-jokingly referred to as “our corporate overlords”), was better than some, worse than others. Some enclaves had actually managed to reestablish democratic governments. Others were run by warlords who started unprovoked resource wars at the drop of a hat.

To the best of her knowledge, the sisters were from some sort of anarchist collective. Apparently, though, they weren’t too anti-authority to be involved with an enclave project.

“I’m thinking about ‘Knockout’, cuz I can already box,” said Homeslice’s older sister.

“Nice,” said Domino. Another girl, leaning against the wall next to Domino, smirked. She was black and round-faced, and her hair was tied back tightly.

“What about you?” Knockout said to the smirking girl.

“Cut-throat,” she said.

“Why’s that?”

“I’m competitive,” she said, and she smiled ferociously, in a way that looked more like she was baring her teeth.

“Right,” said Knockout, clearly unimpressed. She turned to the girl huddling in the corner. “And you?” Her voice softened a little bit.

“Arsyn,” the girl said softly. “With a ‘y’. It was. Um. My family has working Internet, and that’s. Um. My screen name.”

At the words “working Internet,” all the other girls gaped at her, like she’d just mentioned having a pet unicorn.

“The Internet,” one girl breathed. “What’s it like?”

“It’s. You know. There’s websites,” Arsyn said lamely.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of those,” said Domino. “What do they look like?”

“Um, they’re all different,” said Arsyn, gaining confidence. “Like, my favorite website is the one where I can post my art, and people can comment on it—”

“No one cares about your shitty art, princess,” Cut-throat said, cutting her off. Arsyn shrank visibly.

“Hey, shut up,” said another blonde girl, this one sharp-eyed and with wavy hair. Another girl from outside the Enclave, but not part of the anarchist collective. She’d been found living in a farm with two other families, neither of whom seemed to be related to her.

“Why should I? Just because other people have been treating her like she was made of glass her whole life?” said Cut-throat.

“She’s clearly freaked out,” said the sharp-eyed blonde. “We’re all freaked out. We don't need you saying shit like that on top of everything.”

“Who said I was freaked out?” said another girl.

“Course you are,” said the blonde. “We’re getting experimented on. They’re gonna shoot us up with plague juice. They’re turning us into mutants.”

The Headmistress winced. It had been going so well up until that point, too.

“Nothing wrong with being a mutant,” said Knockout.

The blonde turned towards her. “Scuse me,” she said. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

“Sorry,” said Knockout with a false amiability, then said, slowly, “There’s nothing wrong with being a mutant.”

“Well, I think you’re wrong about that,” said the blonde, getting up and walking towards Knockout. “Let’s see.” She started counting on her fingers. “They’re killers. They’re fucked up in the head. They’re ugly as sin. They’re—”

“I’m gonna stop you right now,” said Knockout, “and let you know that my brother’s a mutant.”

The blonde took a step back, visibly repulsed. “And you didn’t put him out of his misery?”

Homeslice flinched.

“We don’t kill mutants in the collective,” said Knockout.

“Well, you’re all gonna wake up dead one day, because I’ve seen what those bastards can do,” said the blonde. She seemed to be shaking.

“You take that back,” Homeslice said, stepping forward.

“Make me,” said the blonde, lunging towards her.

“Hey, hey, hey,” said Knockout, grabbing the blonde by the arm. “Look. You were right. We shouldn’t be fighting right now. We can work this out later, all right?”

The blonde’s eyes flicked to Cut-throat, who was smiling triumphantly, eyebrows raised. “All right,” she said. She and Knockout backed away from each other.

The girls looked at each other, tense and silent. Then a girl whose hair looked like it had been bleached said, “Hey, no one asked me what I wanted to call myself. I’m going with the Crimson Curse.”

Everyone looked at her.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” said Domino. “Why?”

“Well, I thought, what’s the most threatening, painful thing I could think of? And it turned out to be,” she paused for effect, then said, “my period.”

Everyone burst into relieved laughter, including the Headmistress.

When the serum had first been tested, she had waited in a different kind of waiting area, less welcoming, more thrown-together. It had been a more tenuous time, then, just after the Great Leak, when several military-grade biohazards had been inadvertently released and ravaged the United States. The enclave had been a crowded tent city instead of a fledgling metropolis, surrounded by devastated, barren land and dangerous mutants. Every surviving scientist had been totally focused on finding cures or repurposing the viruses so that they could be used helpfully. 

The taste of her old life had lingered on her tongue, her house in the suburbs and her dog named Saltshaker and her college applications. Looking around at the dirty white walls and the dingy hospital beds, she'd known that she'd go mad thinking about it. They all would. That was when she'd first come up with the nickname thing. She'd gone by Athena, back then. Renée had gone by Luna, after Luna Lovegood. She'd wanted to be a fantasy writer, or maybe a marine biologist. Marion had gone by Justice, because she wanted to help people, to use her superpowers to put things back the way they were. There had been twenty-seven others. Flora, a middle-aged kindergarten teacher who'd loved gardening. Valjean, an accountant and father of three who used to do community theater in his spare time. Dusk, a boy her age who'd been really into My Chemical Romance and hard sci-fi novels. 

She, Justice, and Luna had been the only ones to survive the experiment.

Some had been killed by the serum. Some had gone mad with the bloodlust associated with the mutant virus, and had to be put down. Some had killed themselves. She and two others had survived. They still had nightmares, about thin white walls that didn't shut out the screams, about clawed hands stained with blood, about lying awake at night wondering if whoever was in the next room would have an unprecedented bad reaction to the tests, tear down your wall, and snap your neck. 

The three survivors, now the three project heads, had met the night before and agreed. This time, no casualties. No trauma. No fear. These girls were going to be safe, and happy. They were going to trust each other. They were going to be a team.

 

“Welcome to the training facility, Mr. Orozco,” said the Headmistress, opening the door to the conference room. They both took their seats around the circular table, joining the other two occupants, fierce-faced and stocky Luna and the young, black, bearded Dr. Welvin. A window overlooked the currently-empty dining hall. “We’re honored to have you here to receive our first monthly progress report.”

“Happy to be here,” said Mr. Orozco.

“This is Renée Koska, head of funds allocation." It felt so wrong calling her Renée. She was Luna, had been Luna since the day they'd all sat in a circle on the floor of the lab. 

Luna nodded tightly at Mr. Orozco.

"The facility is outfitted with the best tech we have available. Top-notch research equipment, high-quality weaponry, doors that open when you push a button," she said. To Mr. Orozco, she probably sounded neutral, but to anyone who knew her well, it was obvious that she wasn't happy. "And we've stayed firmly within budget. I have an expense report prepared."

"Just as we hoped," said Mr. Orozco. "Perhaps, if there's room for it in the budget, we can start to roll out our publicity campaign."

"Publicity," Luna said flatly.

"Yes, posters, photo shoots, public appearances, that sort of thing," said Mr. Orozco. "Propaganda to drop on other enclaves as a side project. The soldiers'll be useful in the field, of course, but they're also useful as morale boosters and intimidation. This is what we're capable of, this is what we're willing to do to ensure the safety and well-being of our people."

Luna tight-lipped, glanced desperately at the Headmistress, and the Headmistress knew she was dying to ask why, if they had this level of tech and the money to spend on developing it, Orozco and his fellow investors didn't make sure everyone in the enclave had regular access to food, or install working air conditioning in the apartments, or pay their workers higher wages. The Headmistress inclined her head sympathetically. Luna closed her eyes briefly and said, “Yes, sir.”

“Unfortunately, combat trainer Marion Hart," Justice her name was Justice, "is busy running a training exercise and can’t be with us right now, though she’ll make her report later,” the Headmistress said, moving the proceedings along. “However, our head researcher, Dr. Welvin, is present and able to report on the scientific side of our project.”

“Actually, it’s, ah, Welvin the Great,” said Dr. Welvin. All three of them looked at him, frowning. “What, I don’t get a nickname?”

“Your report, doctor,” Mr. Orozco said impatiently. The Headmistress watched him, waiting to see his reaction to Dr. Welvin's words. Mr. Orozco was the sort of person who valued achieving a certain aesthetic over human lives in the abstract--no other kind of person would be willing to fund a project like this--but she wondered how the fact that his daughter was a test subject would change his value system. 

“As you know, the serum is a repurposed version of Formula 189, one of the biohazards that was accidentally released thirty-five years ago and ravaged the country,” said Dr. Welvin. “However, this repurposed version is perfectly safe. Any previous issues were the result of lack of research. We now know that the serum works best on teenagers with estrogen-dominant hormone systems with a particular genetic makeup. There were no…accidents like last time.”

The Headmistress suppressed a shudder. Mr. Orozco didn’t bother to suppress his. Interesting.

“Everyone ended up with the intended results, enhanced strength, durability, flexibility, and healing,” said Dr. Welvin. “Two of the girls developed unplanned powers. Lana Kells, aka Frostbyte, developed hydrokinesis, and Cecilia Grace O’Day, aka Spirit, developed enhanced cognitive abilities. All the girls are in great physical health. I’ve prepared a more detailed briefing for you to bring back to the other investors.”

“Yes, fine,” said Mr. Orozco. He looked at the Headmistress. “I’d like to see my daughter.”

“Not possible, I’m afraid,” the Headmistress said smoothly. “It would look like favoritism.”

“Look, she’s…not great with people she doesn't know,” said Mr. Orozco. “I think it'd be good for her.”

“I’m familiar with your daughter’s social difficulties, Mr. Orozco,” said the Headmistress. “Trust me, I’m providing exactly what she needs most: a safe yet challenging environment that pushes her out of her comfort zone. We’ve outfitted the training facility with the best technology we have available. All the girls have access to small luxuries: good food, books, cosmetics, that sort of thing. We’ve even got a dog. She’s sharing a living space with other girls her age, she’s learning new skills, she’s experiencing some friendly competition—”

“Competition?” said Mr. Orozco. “She never did well with that before.”

“Friendly competition,” said the Headmistress. “We have a chunk of time set aside every few days for friendly sparring matches between the girls. Afterwards, they’re ranked by their skill level.”

She pointed out the window at the leaderboard. It currently read: Frostbyte, then Cut-throat, then Knockout, then Catastrophe, the girl who’d tried to pick a fight with Knockout on the first day, and finally a reserved outlander girl who went by Dilemma.

“The top five get prizes,” the Headmistress continued. “Outings to the city, a few hours of internet access, visits home for the enclave girls, that sort of thing. It’s fun social bonding.”

Just then, a voice came through the Headmistress’s headset. “Ma’am,” said Justice, “there’s a problem with today’s match. I need you down here.”

Talk about bad timing, she thought, then stood up. “Excuse me. I have to take care of something.”

 

Catastrophe had liked fighting even back when she lived in the outlands. She liked it even more now that she knew she looked good doing it.

She knew she looked good because everyone looked good. She shouldn’t have worried about turning into a mutant. They were the opposite: powerful, flexible, toned motherfucking warrior goddesses.

Catastrophe loved it when she had a match scheduled, because she liked winning (and she did win, a lot of the time), and liked people watching her win. She liked the adrenaline rush, the feeling of power, and she liked how those feelings no longer went hand-in-hand with near-death experiences. But even when she didn’t have a match scheduled, she went to them, because the only thing she liked almost as much as fighting was watching the other girls fight.

“Maybe I should just go back to my room,” said Arsyn.

“Come on, this is fun,” said Catastrophe. Arsyn was fun, too, in a kid-sister kind of way. Lots of people thought she was stuck-up, because she spent most of her time in her room or working in the lab with Spirit, but Catastrophe knew better. “Look, there’s a couple seats near the front by Dilemma and Frostbyte.”

“I don’t think Dilemma and Frostbyte like me,” said Arsyn.

“You don’t think anyone likes you,” said Catastrophe. “Come on.” She all-but-dragged the other girl over to the empty chairs.

“Hey,” said Dilemma. Frostbyte nodded at them.

“Can’t wait to watch you wipe the floor with Cut-throat,” Catastrophe said to Frostbyte.

Frostbyte shrugged. “It’s not a given,” she said calmly. “I only have this lead because of my powers, anyway. Once you all learn to work around them, I’ll be solidly in the middle where I should be.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think she’s developed any superpowers lately,” said Catastrophe. “Unless ‘enhanced bitchiness’ counts. You'll win.”

Dilemma snorted. Arsyn giggled shyly. 

Just then, Domino sat down a few seats away. She lounged artfully in the chair. Her grey tank top showed off her lean, toned arms. Catastrophe craned her neck to get a better look.

Dilemma nudged her. “You’re drooling,” she muttered.

“Shut up,” Catastrophe muttered back.

The Crimson Curse, in Domino’s section a few rows back, caught Catastrophe’s eye. Smirking, she leaned forward and said, loud enough for Catastrophe to hear, “Hey, Domino. It’s kind of hot in here, yeah?”

“Yeah,” said Domino.

“You know, we’re all girls here. I think I’m just gonna take off my tank top,” she said. She stretched, peeling it off and revealing her sports bra underneath. “You wanna take yours off, too?”

Domino shrugged. “Maybe later.”

“That’s a real shame,” said the Crimson Curse. "I'll bet there's a couple girls here who'll be disappointed if you don't take it off. Because. You know. You might get too hot."

Catastrophe made eye contact with her and mouthed “fuck you.” The Crimson Curse grinned wickedly.

Just then, Cut-throat strode in, a cocky half-smile on her face. A couple of the girls clapped. Cut-throat surveyed the room, and her eyes fell on Arsyn, who looked like she wanted to shrink into her chair.

“Looks like Her Royal Highness decided to join us,” said Cut-throat. “Hey, remind me of your place in the rankings again?”

“Leave her be,” said Catastrophe.

“Dead. Last,” said Cut-throat. “That’s almost impressive. Have you told your daddy you’re the worst superhero yet?”

“Cut-throat, you’re here to fight, not trade insults,” said Justice. “I need you and Frostbyte in the ring, now.”

Frostbyte stood up. When she passed Arsyn, she murmured, “Don’t let her get to you. You’re last place because you have a confidence issue, not because you’re bad at this.”

“Thanks,” Arsyn whispered, looking like she was about to start crying. Catastrophe punched her in the shoulder. 

“Hey, watch the match,” she said. “It’ll make you feel better to watch Frostbyte mop the floor with her.”

“You gonna challenge Frostbyte if there’s time at the end?” said Dilemma.

“Probably not,” said Catastrophe. “What’s the point? She’s unbeatable. And besides, fighting her isn’t that fun. All I do is slip on the ice and fall on my ass.”

Justice listed off the rules as usual (stop immediately if the whistle blows or if you notice your opponent is injured, only nonlethal weapons allowed, don’t step outside the lines of the ring, etc), then said, “Begin.”

Frostbyte ice-blasted the floor around Cut-throat’s feet, then sent a ball of water flying towards her chest. Cut-throat, prepared for the attack, immediately launched into a back handspring, avoiding the attacks. She landed precariously close to the edge of the ring. Frostbyte immediately followed with another water-blast, trying to knock her off, but Cut-throat deftly spun out of the way. They continued this way, Frostbyte keeping Cut-throat at bay with water blasts and Cut-throat desperately dodging them. "Damn," murmured Dilemma. "I don't think anyone's ever lasted this long." Frostbyte normally had the stamina to wait Cut-throat out, but Cut-throat seemed to be wearing her down, looking for an opening. Soon, she found one: Frostbyte let a few too many seconds pass between ice blasts, and Cut-throat leapt at her. Once she was close enough to her that Frostbyte’s water blasts didn't have nearly enough effect, it was almost easy for her to pin Frostbyte to the ground and hold her there for fifteen seconds.

“Time,” said Justice. “Match goes to Cut-throat.”

There was no applause, only shocked silence. Cut-throat and Frostbyte pulled themselves to their feet.

"Good match," said Frostbyte. 

"I won," said Cut-throat, sounding like she didn't quite believe it. 

"You did," said a bemused Frostbyte. 

"I won," Cut-throat said again, seeming to regain her usual cockiness. She looked out at the stunned crowd. “Well?” she said, spreading her arms out. “Anyone else want to try fighting me?”

No one moved. Not even Catastrophe.

“You sure, princess?” she said, looking at Arsyn. “Too scared?” A flicker of annoyance crossed Frostbyte's normally imperturbable face. 

Arsyn didn’t respond.

“Thought so,” said Cut-throat. “You know, the first time I saw you, I thought, our first battle, she’s dead. If I don’t kill her in training.”

“Knock it off, Cut-throat,” yelled Knockout from the other side of the ring.

“Yeah, up yours,” Catastrophe added, not wanting goody-two-shoes Knockout to get all the credit for standing up for Arsyn.

“You really want to defend her? Then come fight me,” said Cut-throat. “Well?” Neither of them moved.

Then, Arsyn said, quietly, “Fine.”

Catastrophe whipped her head around. “What?” she said.

“I’ll do it. I…I challenge you.”

“You don’t have to—” Dilemma began, but Arsyn had already started walking towards the ring, her legs trembling.

“Oh, no,” Catastrophe moaned. “She’s gonna get murdered.”

Justice restated the rules once more, then said, “Begin.”

Cut-throat pounced on Arsyn. Arsyn dodged out of the way, then tried to pull something out of her sleeve.

“What’s she doing?” Catastrophe muttered. “Come on, hit her!”

Cut-throat lunged towards Arsyn again, aiming for her throat, but Arsyn held out her left arm, blocking her long enough to throw a handful of powder in Cut-throat's face.

Cut-throat stumbled, blinking. She looked dazed.

“What the hell?” said Catastrophe.

“I think that’s something Spirit made in the lab,” said Dilemma.

“Is that legal?” Catastrophe asked.

“Rules say any non-lethal weapons are allowed,” said Dilemma. “That’s non-lethal, and I guess it counts as a weapon.”

Cut-throat threw an uneven punch. Arsyn blocked it easily, then, a grin spreading across her face, threw a punch of her own. It connected, and Cut-throat staggered back. Arsyn punched her again, an uppercut this time. Then again. And again. Then she grabbed Cut-throat's arm and flipped her, slamming her to the ground.

Even after Cut-throat fell, Arsyn didn’t stop. She just kept hitting her and hitting her. Cut-throat tried, weakly, to push her off. She was bleeding. The whistle once, twice. Arsyn ignored it. Justice tapped at her headset, presumably calling the Headmistress.

Knockout leapt into the ring and pulled Arsyn off.

“Stop, or you’re really gonna hurt her,” she said. Justice, after finishing her call, joined her.

“I don’t care,” Arsyn shrieked. “She has it coming.”

“I’m not—unf! Not arguing with you,” Knockout said as Arsyn elbowed her in the stomach. “But you won! Look, you won! You don’t need to do anything else. She’s never gonna live this down.”

“I don’t care, it’s not enough,” said Arsyn, struggling.

“Everyone, stop,” said a commanding voice. The Headmistress entered the room. Cut-throat got to her feet unsteadily.

“This,” said the Headmistress, looking at the situation, “is not what I expected. Will someone tell me what's going on?”

“Arsyn pinned Cut-throat,” said Knockout. “And wouldn’t stop there.”

“Also Cut-throat was being a shithead to her before,” Catastrophe offered.

“I see,” said the Headmistress. “Arsyn, you know that causing serious harm to your opponent is against the spirit of this exercise.”

“Yes,” Arsyn whispered, looking at the floor. All the fire had gone out of her, and she looked painfully ashamed.

“However,” said the Headmistress. “I’m aware of the…problems Cut-throat has caused with you in the past. I have refrained from intervening, because Justice insisted that the problem was not serious. It seems that I should have trusted my judgment. So. Arsyn, you’re assigned to extra chores as punishment. You may keep your victory. I assume that will be punishment enough for Cut-throat’s behavior. Are there any objections?”

Arsyn shook her head. Cut-throat’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing.

“Good. Then I’ll remind you all of one more thing. You are a team. You’re here to work together to defend the enclave from hostile enclaves and mutant bandits. These matches are a diversion and nothing more. Friendly rivalry isn’t an issue, but if I see any more instances of serious animosity as a result of these matches, I will cancel them. Is that clear?”

Everyone nodded.

“Good. You're dismissed.”

They all slowly got up. Arsyn, biting her lip, hurried towards the door.

Catastrophe caught up to her.

“Hey,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” said Arsyn. “I almost ruined your favorite thing.”

“Whoa,” said Catastrophe. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?”

“Of course not! That was the most exciting match I’ve seen yet! I mean sure, you got a bit carried away at the end, but,” Catastrophe slung her arm around Arsyn’s shoulder, “you looked great up there.”

Arsyn smiled slightly, and Catastrophe ruffled her hair.

 

A month later, the Headmistress, Justice, and Luna sat around the conference room table. Outside the window, the girls chattered over their morning omelets, more excitedly than usual.

“Are you both sure the girls are ready for a mission?” Luna said tensely.

“Don’t worry. It’s an extremely routine, predictable assignment,” said the Headmistress. “I'm not sending them to fight with the Seattle warlords' troops, or undercover in the SF enclave, or anything that could go south easily. I'm just sending them on a run-of-the-mill mission defending some infrastructure from a group of hostile mutants. In fact, with Knockout taking point, it might not even have to get violent.”

“Agreed,” said Justice. “But…maybe we should have Arsyn sit out, at least. If something bad happens to her, it’ll bring Orozco down on our heads.”

“Arsyn’s earned her lead in the rankings,” said the Headmistress. It was true. Arsyn no longer held the top spot, but the fight with Cut-throat had given her the confidence she needed to stay in the top five. “And I think having her along will help. At the very least, we’ll know we have at least one person who’ll obey Knockout unquestioningly, and perhaps that’ll set an example for the others.”

“You think that’s necessary?” said Justice. “I thought Cut-throat was the only wild card.”

The Headmistress shook her head. “Yes, Cut-throat’s an issue. She respects Knockout, but she cares about winning more, and if Knockout says something that she thinks will cause her to lose…well. We’ll have a problem. Dilemma could be a problem, too. She’s more likely to follow orders than not, but she grew up fighting for her life in the outlands, and isn’t used to a formal command structure. But the real problem is Catastrophe. She hates Knockout, she angers easily, and she’s difficult to predict. But she does like Arsyn.”

“And you think that’ll help?”

The Headmistress rubbed her temple. “God, I hope so.”

 

The helicopter blades whirred above them as they lifted off into the air. Catastrophe rubbed her hands together excitedly. “Can’t wait to murder some mutant bastards,” she said, mostly to piss off Knockout. Dilemma, sitting on the bench across from her, nodded.

“Let’s hope princess over here doesn’t piss all over her uniform,” said Cut-throat.

“Shut up,” said Knockout and Catastrophe at the same time. They glared at each other.

Arsyn held up a hand. “I can handle this,” she said quietly.

“Oh, you think you’re tough now,” said Cut-throat.

“I know why you don’t like me,” said Arsyn.

“I—what?” said Cut-throat, caught off guard.

“What happened?” said Arsyn, with a quiet intensity Catastrophe didn't know she had in her. “Did someone in your family get laid off from one of his factories? Or even get a pay cut? Did he evict you? Put a hit out on someone you cared about? Don’t think I don’t know he’s going to try to use us as his personal hitmen, by the way. The Headmistress’ll fight him on that, but he’ll try.”

“You don’t know what it’s like,” said Cut-throat.

“No, but I’m not an idiot, either,” said Arsyn. “I know most people don’t grow up eating fresh fruit and scrolling through the Internet in their spare time. But I’m not him. I don’t want to be him. Why do you think I went behind his back and volunteered for this?” She took a deep breath. “I don’t need you to like me. I don’t need you to be my friend. I have friends.” She glanced automatically at Catastrophe, as if she needed reassurance.

“That’s right,” said Catastrophe. Dilemma nodded.

“But I do need you to work with me. Because if you don’t, you put everyone at risk. Are we clear?”

“Sure,” Cut-throat said tightly. It wasn’t as enthusiastic a yes as Catastrophe would’ve liked, but Arsyn seemed satisfied.

“So, let’s go over the plan,” said Knockout. “Our mission is to regain control of our water pipeline and find some way to neutralize the mutants who are currently occupying the territory. Remember, we are going to be nonviolent unless absolutely necessary. Most mutants are only violent because they’re desperate. We can reason with them.”

“Hey, you know what, maybe you should ask my parents for tips on compromising with mutants,” said Catastrophe. “I mean, their flesh is probably rotted away by now, but wander around in the desert long enough and you might find Da’s skull.”

Cut-throat and Arsyn looked mildly horrified. Dilemma laughed.

“Arsyn and I will approach the mutants and offer them a compromise,” said Knockout. “The rest of you can hide in the sand dunes so we don’t overwhelm them. Don’t attack until one of us yells ‘Go’. If we do end up having to attack, your first priority is protecting each other, and your second priority is the pipeline. If the mutants run away, let them.”

“She’s got a point there,” Dilemma said to Catastrophe. “They might be leading us into an ambush or something.” Catastrophe shrugged, but they both knew Dilemma was right.

The helicopter landed. Catastrophe and the other two went to hide in the dunes and wait for Knockout’s inevitable yell. Catastrophe wished she hadn’t dragged Arsyn into that death trap with her.

After a few minutes, they heard an explosion.

Catastrophe decided to forget about waiting on Knockout’s yell. She and the others leapt to their feet and ran for the pipeline. Debris from the bomb was scattered in the sand around them. Knockout was on her feet still, fighting off three mutants at once, but Arsyn was down, her right leg a bloody mess. She was still swiping at mutants with her knife. Looking at her leg, Catastrophe figured it would heal in about ten minutes, but it was clear that Arsyn wasn’t going to be able to hold out for that long.

Catastrophe tried to push towards her, but a woman with the left side of her mouth reaching all the way down to her neck and a man with teeth growing where his fingernails should be moved between them. She pulled out her knife and hacked at them. Mouth-woman lunged at her, scraping her cheeks hard enough to draw blood, but Catastrophe stabbed her in the neck, knowing that she would heal in a few seconds. The woman dropped to the ground, gurgling. The man pulled a knife of his own, aiming for her arm, but she stabbed him in the stomach. Them dispatched, she sprinted towards Arsyn, fearing it would be too late. But, to her shock, Cut-throat was guarding her.

“Pipeline, dumbass!” she said when she saw Catastrophe staring. Knockout and Dilemma were already at the area where the pipeline was ruptured, fighting off any mutants who tried to get close. Catastrophe joined them.

"How's the nonviolence working out for you?" she said to Knockout. 

“You don’t have to kill them!” said Knockout, grabbing a man’s forearm with both hands and snapping it. “They know they won’t win.”

"This ethical argument is really interesting," said Dilemma. "Could we discuss it when people aren't trying to kill us? 

After a few minutes, Knockout said, "Everyone stand down, they're retreating."

Sure enough, most of the mutants were running away.

“Like hell,” said Catastrophe. Her head was buzzing, her blood pumping. No way the fight was over now. No way was she letting them go and kill more people. She started chasing after them.

“Catastrophe!” said Knockout. Catastrophe ignored her, barely even hearing her. There was a buzzing sound filling her ears. She was gasping for breath and choking on sand-laced air. She easily caught up to a lagging mutant and grabbed him by the hair, ready to snap his neck.

A three-eyed kid looked up at her, terrified.

“Catastrophe!” Knockout yelled. “That’s an order.”

She loosened her grip on the mutant kid’s head. He ran. She let him go.

She watched him for a second, watched him trip over his own feet and tumble to the ground, then get back up and disappear into the dunes.

The man who’d killed her mother had three eyes.

She could still catch him.

She turned back around and headed towards the pipeline.

…

As the mid afternoon sun beat down, the five soldiers leaned against the pipeline, sweat soaking their clothes. They were standing by as the workers they’d brought with them fixed the pipeline, in case any more hostile groups attacked them.

Knockout walked up to Catastrophe and offered her her canteen. Catastrophe drank. Knockout didn’t berate her. Catastrophe didn’t apologize.

“You know,” said Knockout, “when I heard I was stuck with you, I literally begged the Headmistress to change her mind.”

“Screw you, then,” said Catastrophe.

“But I won’t do that again,” said Knockout.

“What do you want me to do, thank you?” said Catastrophe. “You’re full of yourself.” But she grinned as she said it, and punched Knockout in the shoulder. Knockout punched her back.

“So,” Arsyn said to Cut-throat.

“Don’t try to make it mean anything,” said Cut-throat. “I don’t like you. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you die.”

“I was going to say, did you see Dilemma throw that guy at the other guy that was coming at her?” she said. “Genius.”

“Damn right,” said Dilemma. “And you weren’t so bad yourself. You got a lot of good hits in for someone who was stuck on the ground.”

“Yeah, there’s gonna be a lot more limping mutants now,” said Catastrophe, squeezing Arsyn’s arm affectionately.

“I think I have blood in my hair,” said Arsyn, touching her head. "Gross."

“Your hair is always gross,” said Catastrophe. Arsyn laughed.

“Should’ve worn a ponytail like I said,” said Knockout.

“God, I can’t wait to get back and tell everyone what happened,” said Catastrophe. “They’ll be all over us.”

“No, they’ll be like, ‘Catastrophe, take a shower or we will murder you,’” said Cut-throat. “Trust me.”

“Shut up, you,” said Catastrophe, laughing and flinging sand at Cut-throat. Cut-throat grabbed a handful of sand and threw it back. It hit Knockout, who started coughing, which made Dilemma and Arsyn start laughing, too.

"Her one weakness!" said Arsyn. "No one tell the Seattle Warlords!" This only made Catastrophe laugh harder.

The helicopter pilot approached them.

“All right,” he said, “time to head out.”

They got up, still laughing. Catastrophe watched them, thinking about all the times back in the outlands she'd been double-crossed in the middle of a fight. That's what happened when you were an outlander kid with no parents. You couldn't trust anyone.

The Headmistress had told them a thousand times that they were supposed to be able to trust each other absolutely, but being told was a lot different from knowing. And Catastrophe knew, with a certainty so alien it was almost overwhelming, that these four girls had her back, no matter what.


End file.
